


Everyone Knows Aladdin

by afterandalasia



Category: Aladdin (1992)
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, Masturbation, Obsession, One-Sided Attraction, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-04
Updated: 2011-09-04
Packaged: 2018-01-24 17:46:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1613813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Razoul's interest in Aladdin doesn't really have that much to do with a loaf of bread.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everyone Knows Aladdin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [guiltyhousewife](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=guiltyhousewife).



> From the excellent [prompt](http://disney-kink.livejournal.com/4400.html?thread=2932528#t2932528) at the Disney Kink Meme.

"All this for a loaf of bread?" he hears the boy ask in confusion.  
  
A loaf of bread? Psh. There are far worse crimes in this world than stealing bread and apples whilst the traders are not looking. The traders themselves, frankly, could be called criminals for the prices that they charged. There was always some bandit or other stealing out of greed, always some man with murder on his mind, always some woman selling her body on street corners. Even the Qu'ran says that the man who steals out of need is not truly a thief.  
  
But this boy, this _Aladdin_...  
  
They know him on the market, where he bandies jokes and flirts and charms his way along, the traders never notice his nimble hands, or that damned monkey, as they pick the choicest produce from the stallfront. They know him in the whorehouses, though as far as Razoul knows he does not dally there, nor work for them, and they merely give him sanctuary and occasionally let him hide behind one of their veils when the guards come looking for his sorry figure. The beggar-children know him, and say that he shares his food with them or gives it up all together if he can stand it.  
  
Everyone knows him, and yet Razoul, Captain of the Royal Guard, cannot even lay his hands on the boy long enough to get him into a cell.  
  
The thought of the boy, chained and manacled, is enough to send wriggling hot fingers crawling beneath his skin. But free, even free, almost bare-chested in the heat and with his thick black hair flying round his face, Aladdin is oddly... beautiful. It feels almost wrong to use the word for a man, or even for a boy, but there is no other word that can capture the graceful movements, the effortless escapes, the flawless quips that come from his mouth.  
  
He finds himself thinking of the boy. Thinking about him when the day is quiet and they are standing in the shade of an arch way to try and stop themselves from being burnt by the heat. Thinking about him when he hears from the stall-holders of yet another theft, just an item or two gone missing.  
  
Thinking about him at night, when his cock aches beneath the sheets and his fingers curl into fists at his sides.  
  
He appreciates the pretty girls who flutter from the windows of the brothel as much as any of the other men. And all of them have at least considered, at one time or another, what they could ask the whores to do in return for a blind eye being turned to their existence. He has known more than one street rat-girlthief who has offered her body to the guards in desperation in return for getting out of jail again. And, of course, there are the women who simply want to share their bed with a man; some would act shocked at their existence, but Razoul at least has seen enough to know that women can match men in crime, in sin, in whatever they may chose. He does not presume lust to be an exception.  
  
He wants the boy willing, Razoul will stand firmly beside that. No, better, he wants Aladdin to beg for it, on his knees, with those wide dark eyes glazed with lust and longing. He wants to hear the boy whisper, or moan, or cry out how much he wants it. As for the 'it' in question... he is less sure. Whether he wants to have the boy writhing beneath him as he pounds, whether he wants to have them meet face to face that they might grind together in delicious combination, whether he wants in fact to feel the boy's cock filling him up, to be taken hard and fast against the bed.  
  
The images blur together in the nights, as he takes himself in hand and bites his lip to suppress the groans that rise in his throat. At the thought of sweat sheening on the boy's bare, muscled ass he always spills over his hand, hot and like a thrill of release down his spine.  
  
And in the day he will roar, again and again, "There he is!" and they will charge after the boy, but Aladdin is always just too quick, just too skilled, and as he stands framed beautifully in one of the windowframes he catches Razoul's eye, and winks.  
  
It gives Razoul whole new dreams. And he cannot help but wonder whether, somehow, the boy knows.  
  
It would suit Aladdin, after all.


End file.
